


Neat Tricks

by UnionJacksgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Burglary, Character Death, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Hunting, I don't like tagging, Major Character Undeath, Might be slow everything, NSFW, Nudity, Romance, Slow Build, Smut, Tattooed Dean, Tattooed Sam, Wet Dream, back from the dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:57:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnionJacksgirl/pseuds/UnionJacksgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam & Dean's soulmates are given back to them. How they got back, what they did on their way back to the boys. Tags to be added (to the best of my ability to tag) as I progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, it's my first time! Seriously. Un-beta'ed. I proofread, but not that well (which may be painfully obvious). That being said, I would appreciate any critiques and it's ok to not be gentle on those....not my first time with that part!

     As far as neat tricks go coming back from the dead tops the charts. At least that’s what I hear. Plenty of beings want to put a person in the ground; a surprising few want a person out in one working piece. I’m Jessica Moore. The one killed by the yellow eyed demon. And my roommate is Joanna Beth Harvelle. Jo. The Jo shredded by hell hounds and blown up trying to give the Winchesters time to kill Lucifer.  
      We have no helpful information on whom or what brought us back. We woke up in a field, just a few feet away from one another. Jo and I had made only one contact with her previous life: Bobby Singer. Neither of us had wanted to go that route but it was the only choice. We had nothing and we couldn’t contact anyone we used to know. We needed help. Bobby, in his usual gruff way (according to Jo), had saved us. Weapons, money and, for me, a crash course in things that go bump in the night; Bobby set us up with the works. Even gave us a car, on loan he said. A 1965 Mustang with an engine that felt like it was going to jump out of the car. It’s not pretty and it’s not quiet but it runs. Jo calls it a man car since the engine is top notch but the body is primer gray.

  
      So Jo and I are fellow “second chancers” or whatever you want to call us. In our previous lives, we wouldn’t have had a lot in common. Now, we have an unexpected amount. Both of us are blonde and generally thought to be good looking. Both of us like to drink beer and eat junk. Both of us like to run off the beer and junk. And both of us are soul mates to Winchesters.  
      We rented a house outside of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Historically Sam and Dean have stuck to the mid west so we tried to pick a place that is off the radar as much as possible. So far it seems like a good choice. There is a good sized college and a decent bar scene. Neither Jo nor I had any trouble finding work. Also, being in the south, weaponry was welcomed, expected and easy to find. This is a plus for me since I’ve had to put in hours at a range. Catching up with Jo on the range had been easier than the combat training she put me through.  
      For six months we’ve worked and trained. Jo had been the first to admit that her hunting experience had been mostly second hand. Bobby ferreted out a few local issues for us to get started with and we jumped in. That was over a year ago.  
      A lot changes in a year. Bobby was gone now. Jo and I had stood in the woods and watched his body burn. No one knew we were there.  
Fortunately for us, Bobby had the foresight to make a backup plan. Garth is not exactly an upgrade to Bobby but he tries hard and he’s much better with technology. Garth sent us a few jobs here and there and we found a few on our own. Lately though, Jo and I have been feeling a little trapped.

  
“I think we’ve waited long enough. I think we should go”, Jo said. We were sitting in our kitchen, drinking beers, trying to decide what to do.

  
“I have to agree. I don’t know where for us to go. I mean, are we going to do the newspaper and internet search thing and just drive around to random jobs?” I asked.

  
“What if we tagged along?” Jo looked me in the eye when she asked this because there was no avoiding the question. We’d both been thinking it for some time.

  
Tagging along was a dangerous proposition on so many levels. “How long do you think it would be before they caught on? Sometimes they aren’t stupid”, I said, taking another drink. Jo snickered at the comment.  
      I returned Jo’s steady gaze and quietly asked, “What about a head on collision?”

  
“Fuck that”, Jo replied. “I can’t imagine a worse way to do it. I’d like to get through this without getting shot”.

  
I laughed, knowing she was right. “So tag along then?”

  
“I think we should give it a shot. They’re so consumed with finding Kevin and finishing their current save the world mission they may not catch on for awhile. Who knows, they may not catch on at all,” Jo shrugged.

  
      Though we are both desperate to be close, neither of us want to force the issue. Forcing an issue with the Winchesters is a good way to get killed.

  
“You know we can’t wait forever” I said, looking pointedly at Jo.

  
      We had been given only one clue as to why we were brought back: we were soul mates who had been taken before our time. I had no trouble wrapping my mind around this gem. Jo still doesn’t believe it’s remotely possible. One earth-shattering kiss does not equal eternity in her opinion.  
      I can close my eyes and remember Sam’s touch on my skin. I still feel him next to me when I sleep. I have to believe we can be that way again. It’s all I have.

  
“So leave in the morning?” Jo asked. I nodded in reply.

   We’d call and quit our bar jobs in the morning so no one would look for us. The house lease was up in a few days. Picking a college town meant that moving on was par for the course in jobs and leases. There was nothing out of the norm about leaving the house empty. Everything we owned would fit in the mustang. Packing light was easy when you had almost nothing.  
      Since Jo had grown up in a hunter household, she had the skills to keep us as anonymous as possible. We’d collected a few spare license plates from the bar parking lot—out of state and as current as possible. They wouldn’t last long. We had fake ID’s for almost every branch of government out there. Bobby had helped us with those. That man had a way of adopting wandering hunter kids. Though he’d never been a rich man, he had stashed a good sum of cash before he died. Garth had given us almost $15,000 from Bobby.

    Jo and I had both fallen apart all over again. Bobby had known about our “soul mate” status and he believed it, heart and soul. He loved Sam and Dean better than their father. He wanted them to have some happiness on this earth, and he believed Jo and I could make that happen. No pressure, right?

     That night we packed up the house and loaded the car. We each kept out a knife and a pistol. We wiped the house clean of prints. Neither of us felt this was strictly necessary but thought it was a good idea, just in case. All this took a good amount of time and between the work and the worry, we were exhausted. Still, sleep did not come easy to either of us.  
      Early the next morning we left our quiet little town, headed as far west as we could go. The plan is to meet Garth in Oregon and get an update on Sam and Dean. Garth also found a job for us along the way. He said we might as well make the miles worth it, since we were coming through anyway.  
      We traded off driving and sleeping, stopping only when we had to. We made Kansas in a day. Marshall, Kansas is a small town with a strong rural farming community. Garth’s information had been vague and limited. He found an oddly high number of deaths among the elderly in the area, all women.  
    

     “Find anymore than Garth did?” Jo asked as she drove from the motel office to our room. “A little. They all had the same home health care company. Could be a coincidence but probably not”, I answered.

  
“Yeah. Probably not” Jo said, getting out of the car. Early evening had come and the light was fading. “We’ll sleep a few hours and then head over to their offices.”

    I smiled a little to myself. Breaking and entering had never been a part of my previous life. Jo had made me practice that as well. I’m still not as fast with a lock pick but I’m improving all the time. Alarm systems were an ever present threat too; but those I could handle. Jo said I made technology my bitch whenever I could.  
   

    The office of Ever Care, Inc. was located in an older strip mall just off the main road. “Top quality looking office here”, I commented sarcastically.  
We drove by the front and saw no lights or movement. The rear of the office had minimal parking for employees that was deserted this time of night.


	2. Isn't that a song from "Cats"?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay an update! So I am completely deviating from cannon/timeline and lots of other stuff. The girls are headed for the Winchesters and that will hopefully lead to some NSFW reading very soon. (Woohoo).  
> This chapter will consist of a hunt that entangles the girls with some major players in Greek/Roman mythology (because that always leads to happiness right??).  
> Please feel free to critique, I live for progress. (Un beta'd)

We backed our beat up car into a space on the far side of a dumpster a ways from the office and paused before getting out. The area looked deserted so far.  
Ever Care, Inc. apparently didn't think their business required creative or expensive security. Jo picked the back door lock as I took the basic security system offline. Although there were no visible cameras, we had covered our hair and faces. We always wore gloves and generic black clothing as a rule. We live almost exclusively off grid or under assumed names but careful is easier than caught.

"They even left the Musak on for us, wasn't that nice?"; my sarcasm continuing to be in ample supply. The song sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it. "Do you know this song?" I asked Jo as we carefully browsed the office's back rooms. "It's driving me crazy that I can't place it".

Jo shook her head, "I've heard it, too. Can't think what it is though".

"What exactly are we looking for?" I ask as we creep further into the office. "No clue. Maybe the serial killer wall of death?" Jo said, smirking.

  
"Here we go", Jo said waving a stack of files. "These are the names Garth gave us". She started copying the files so we could read over the info at the motel. "It all looks pretty normal. There's no big sign saying 'we kill little old ladies' or anything. No piles of money, organs, weapons or anything. The most interesting thing I've found is a shower chair", I said walking around the office.

We worked quickly and as quietly as a copy machine will allow. When all the copying was complete we put everything back, locked up and left. We had parked some distance away but the night was nice and even a little on the cool side for June, making the walk enjoyable. We reached our humble (but fast!) car and drove back to the motel.

"So. Garth says there's nothing out of the ordinary about these ladies lives. First, all of the women were in advanced Alzheimer's; none recognized their families, spouses and very little else from their lives. Second, they were all patients of the same home health care company which is the main reason we snooped around their office. But most alarming is the fact that every single one of the women approached death in the same manner. Ten days prior to death each woman had become suddenly lucid and brilliantly creative. Their accomplishments were lauded in the media and wondered at by their respective families and the public alike. The medical field had been attributing their sudden genius to various conditions from brain tumors to blood clots as well as the variety of medications each patient had been taking.They were all very elderly when they passed. There is nothing interesting about their lives until about a week before they passed", I read off the notes I'd taken from Garth. 

  
"What did they do? Jo asked around her bite of burger.

  
"They all did some amazing things...one wrote what's expected to be a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, one composed over a hundred operas, another made over a million in the stock market and -" Jo cut me off in the middle of listing the who's who of little old lady accomplishments. 

"Witches or demon deals. What else let's a person accomplish so much after a lifetime of normal living?" Jo shrugged, "Any other ideas?"

"Ah. Nothing good, no" I answered. "They were all Alzheimer's patients, if that matters".

  
"Alzheimer's? The memory thing right?" Jo furrowed her brows, thinking.

  
"Yeah...that's just scratching the surface of what it does, but yeah, that's the most obvious part of the disease process" I was typing, reading about the disease as I talked and then it hit me, "'Memory'! From _Cats_!" I yelled.

  
Jo looked at me like I had grown an extra head.

"The song that was playing. It's "Memory" from _Cats_!"

Realization washed over Jo's features. "I love that song; can't believe I didn't recognize it" she frowned. "All Alzheimer's patients. A memory related song. All women. Do you believe in coincidences Jess?" she asked seriously.

  
"No way in hell" I replied with no hesitation. We knew better. "What steals memories? And...grants wishes? Would that be what you call what happened to these women in the last week? They got to do something amazing just before they died after all".

After a few minutes Jo cleared her throat and said, "You should see this" as she passed me the file. On the top of the page, in an almost illegible print "Terpsichore" was written. We quickly looked at the other files. "Caliope. Clio. Euterpe. Erato. Melpomene. Polyhymnia. Thalia. Urania." I read each of them and they sounded like death knells to me.

Of course I didn't know but a couple of the names..but; I did know who they were collectively. The daughters of Mnemosyne. Memory. As in the Greek goddess of memory. Her nine daughters, fathered by Zeus were the Muses.

 "Son of a bitch" I said and Jo smiled for a second.

"The Muses. What does this mean?" I asked no one in particular. 

"So we've got nine dead elderly women, each with the ancient name of a Muse written on their file. Either we're dealing with the actual Mnemosyne, in which case we're screwed every way imaginable because what the fuck can we do about a Titaness? Or" and she paused and crossed her fingers, "some very devoted worshipers have found a badass artifact that allows them to grant the powers of the Muses".

"I hadn't thought of that. People would be majorly preferable over a...what did you call her?" I asked.

"Titaness". Jo replied

"I thought she was a Greek goddess, the goddess of memory?" I apparently had missed something in ninth grade history.

"Yes and no. She was actually a Titanide or female Titan as in one of the gods that predated the 'modern' Greek gods and goddesses. She was one they didn't kill. She kept her reign over Memory and birthed the Muses with Zeus" Jo had slipped into lecture mode and I was having a bit of a panic attack.

Monsters I could deal with. Ancient godlike beings were seriously freaking me out. I took a deep breath and then another.

"Ok. Ok. Can we go with the hope that this is a cult thing or...what did Mnemosyne have? Priestesses?" I wondered aloud.

"Definitely. I actually would bet this is the work of someone who considers herself and priestess or at the least, an incredibly serious devotee. I can't see a Titaness who's been in the background for literally thousands of years suddenly deciding to wipe out little old ladies. It makes no sense" Jo drummed her fingers on the crappy excuse for a table and pulled the laptop over. 

"What are you looking for?" I asked, moving to stand behind Jo so I could see the screen. Our height difference is pretty drastic.

"Ever Care's website. Maybe they have some employee photos. It has to be someone that works there or has access at least", she typed as she spoke and quickly pulled the site up, "Oh would you look, isn't that handy?" her sarcasm also still fully functional as she clicked on the "Our Staff" tab of the site. 

Jo scrolled past the corporate photos and down the page. She slowed when she got to the individual shots. Some were obviously submitted by the employees while others showed them with various patients, in the office or at company events. She stopped and leaned toward the screen. 

The picture showed a thirty-something woman standing behind an elderly lady in a wheelchair. The woman had leaned forward for the picture and was holding her necklace to keep it from swinging out as she bent. I squinted at the picture. The necklace was partially obscured by the woman holding it but I'd seen the symbol before. It looked like an 'H' except the outer parts of the letter were curved rather than straight.  
  
"That's her. She's the one. It's the symbol for Mnemosyne". Jo read the caption under the photo, "Moneta Smith. Well that's definitely fake" Jo looked at my questioning expression and explained, "Moneta was the Roman version of Mnemosyne. This has to be our girl. I say we pay her a visit during business hours". I nodded in agreement and we called it a night. 

My brain spent those few hours before daylight running over all the horrible ways the goddess of memory could screw up my life. Since memories were the only thing that kept me going the thought of losing them was enough to bring the panic attacks back on. I lay there on scratchy motel sheets and thought of Sam. What had all these years been like for him? I scrunched my eyes tight, trying to keep the tears back and failing miserably. At least Jo was asleep. Or some semblance of sleep. She spent her nights running from hell hounds, arms wrapped around her middle and knees pulled up; almost fetal position. Hunters and peaceful sleep just didn't go together.

 


	3. Sweet Dreams are Made of These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will explore some...ah..interesting side affects that the girls have to deal with as part of their soulmate status. Some will be smexy (I hope). Again I have deviated from the show timeline and progress. I will also not be having the boys (or girls) deal with some of the major issues featured in the show (the Mark, for example). It's going to be pure Saving People, Hunting Things for everyone. The points of view from which parts of this chapter are written will also switch some. I will clarify before each part.  
> Again un beta'd, my own proofreading only, please comment!  
> Thanks!

[Jo]

      Most people look forward to going to sleep at the end of a long day. Not me. I dread every second before falling asleep and after...well let's just say it doesn't get better. Dying at the end of hellhound claws is an awful way to go. Using an ace bandage to hold your insides in doesn't improve the process. Having to relive it every night since is just absolute hell. 

      I brushed my teeth with a shaking hand. Jess came in as I was finishing up and I moved to give her access to the sink. "You alright?' she asked quietly. It's not exactly 'no chick flick moments' with us, but we aren't reading each other's diaries either. 

"No but don't think there's a fix", I answered, shrugging and grabbing a towel. My stomach was in knots and my palms were sweating. Every. Fucking. Night. You think I'd get used to it. Not so much. 

      Dragging the sheets down on the bed and crawling in, I tried to focus on something neutral. Plain old fields or waves or anything really. My mind wandered to Dean. This didn't make the stomach knots go away but it did change them to something a little less miserable. Soulmates huh? Wonder who decided that. It certainly wasn't a lack of attraction-I would have to be more than dead for that to go away-but Dean had always thought of me as a little sister. He'd been very clear that he was not interested in a romantic relationship. I couldn't help but smile to myself. I always wondered if he was just terrified of my mom. 

    The proverbial elephant in the room I tried not to dwell was that kiss. Even now it made my heart stutter. I could remember the taste of salt and blood and _Dean_. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew the way he smelled without having to think about it. Gun oil, the Impala, cordite and leather. I breathed in deeply again. I thought about his hands, the strong fingers, long and dexterous. I remembered watching him break down and clean a gun once and having to change my panties after. Although I didn't have the faintest clue what sex with Dean Winchester would be like: that didn't stop my imagination. 

    Thinking of Dean distracted me enough that I fell asleep fairly quickly. 

I was dreaming and I didn't know where I was. It looked like a library with some...oddities. I knew I'd never been there but it felt comfortable. Safe. I wandered down a hall with doors on either side. I could see into the rooms, the closed doors looking foggy and only somewhat there. A small part of my brain was concerned about that fact but as I approached the next door all rational thought fled. Dean's room. Dean. In the bed. No shirt. My brain was only capable of single syllable words. He was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, arms wrapped around and under his pillow. _Jesus_. Back muscles are a gift and his are spectacular and _ohmygodohmygod: tattooed_. I clenched my fists as I walked toward him. I wanted to feel his skin so badly it hurt. My mouth was dry and my panties were the opposite. 

I knew I should stop my feet. I really should. There was no fucking way I was stopping. My gaze moved up the channel of his spine. The tattoo spanned the whole left side of his back, running lines of text that I couldn't read from where I stood. I got closer. I could see him breathing. I stood right beside the bed, staring in disbelief at the scrawling black script on his back. Names. It was names. I could read them now. Mary Winchester. John Winchester. Jessica Moore. Ellen Harvelle. Benny Lafitte. Bobby Singer. Ash. and..my own name. They were all there. Some I knew, some I didn't recognize but I could tell from the ones I knew what the list was: everyone Dean had lost. In his own handwriting. I reached out to touch my name. The script was squiggly, like he'd been shaking when he wrote them. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I touched my mom's name. Dean hummed a little in his sleep and I kept lightly touching names, running my fingers over each one, my eyes closed as I concentrated on the texture of Dean's skin and the tattoo. I was surprised at how soft his skin was. I could see a few scars here and there scattered over tanned skin. I wanted to know what they were from. All of them. I moved my hands up to his shoulders and ghosted them over the muscle there and down as much bicep as I could reach. Dean sighed and leaned into the touch. I froze. Realization washed over me. He could feel me touching him. I shivered and squeezed my thighs together to stop the tremors going through my core. 

I had withdrawn my hands but now I ran both of them up Dean's back, on either side of his spine, leaning down I pressed a kiss in between his shoulder blades. I lay my head on his back, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him, my breasts pressed into his back, arms and hands curling over his shoulders. His breath hitched and he started to move. I sat up and pulled away carefully. I wasn't sure how he could feel my being there or touching him but I didn't want to ruin it. I knew if he woke, he wouldn't be able to see me. How did I know that?? Again that part of my brain that was concerned about this whole thing was trying to be reasonable but I studiously ignored it. I had Dean Winchester shirtless, tattooed and asleep in front of me; there was no way in hell I was changing any part of that. Dean rolled over and all the air left my body. _Holyfuckingshit_. My nipples hardened and I could feel the wetness seeping through my panties. I'd known what Dean looked like, even shirtless, a long time ago but somehow having him laid out like a damn buffet in front of me was more than I could take. I softly laid both hands on either side of his chest, covering the anti-possession tattoo with one hand. He was so warm. I curled my fingertips into his skin, nails scraping just enough. Dean moved his right arm down to his hip, fingers slipping in the waistband of his boxers. I scraped a nail over a dusky nipple and he moaned, hips canting up slightly. He moved his hand farther down and I leaned up and moved the sheet. No fucking way was I missing even a second of this. If this was all I ever had, if this never happened again, I was damn well going to enjoy every. single. second. 

My hands moved down over firm abs onto the v of his hips. I could see the muscle roped over his hipbones. I gave in and applied my tongue to one side. There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere above me and Dean thrust his hips up off the mattress. I smiled but it froze as I glanced down. Dean had his hand wrapped firmly around himself, stroking, already fully hard, precum leaking from the tip. I felt like I was on fire. I could feel inner muscles clenching. I wanted more and it was frustrating as hell not to have it. I ignored helping myself and moved my hand to cover Dean's, flicking my thumb over his tip, hearing him suck in a breath at the touch. He took his hand off and I moved between his legs, replacing my hand with my mouth. Dean bucked his hips up, thrusting into my throat. I hummed, relaxing and swallowing him down. "Ah god Jo, so fucking good", I heard from above me. My shock almost stopped everything. How? Did he know I was here? I swirled my tongue around the head, flicking the underside, hollowing my cheeks as he thrust into my mouth. "Jo-I'm-" Dean growled and I swallowed every drop, relishing the taste and the sound of my name on his lips. I let go even though the idea of torturing his overstimulated dick was very appealing. I looked at Dean, now breathing slow and even in his sleep. I leaned down and kissed his sternum, running my hands down his ribs and-then I woke up. 

"What the actual fuck?" I whisper-screamed to the dark room. Jess came awake instantly, pulling her .38 out in one smooth motion. She looked at me and around the room, trying to figure out what the heck was going on. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, not lowering the gun. 

"You can put that down. It's not danger-I don't think anyway. You're not going to believe this", I got up and paced a bit, "I just had the most realistic wet dream of my fucking life. With Dean Winchester. What the hell is going on?" I dragged a hand through my hair and tried to stop shaking. 

"uh. Wha? Sorry. What happened?" Jess was awake enough for danger but not this. She swung long tan legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and uncocking the .38. 

"I um-I had a-" I was now embarrassed, "awetdreamwithDean" I rushed all the words together just to get them out. Jess blinked at me a few times.

We were both red and trying to figure out how to move forward with the conversation. "Ok. Um. Ok. Well. Ah. Was it good?" she finally asked. 

I felt a blush creep up my neck and burn through my face to the roots of my hair. "Ooookay. Well I guess that's an improvement over the hellhounds, yeah?" her eyebrows had crept up pretty much as far as they would go. 

"Yes. Um. yeah. definitely better than that", goosebumps crawling over my skin as that thought went through my brain. 

"How realistic are we talking about here?" Jess asked. 

I took a deep breath and blew it out, "Very. Very. Very realistic", I answered.

"Alright. Um. Very realistic? What does that mean? How do you know?" Jess was scrunching up her face, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. 

What I didn't say was, 'I can still taste his cum in my mouth', what I did say was,"More realistic than any dream I've ever had".

I continued, "Look, it probably doesn't mean anything, just go back to sleep". Jess rolled her eyes and got back in bed mumbling, "Yeah. Ok. Let me know how that works out for ya". 

I went to the minuscule bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It was 3am. I'd been asleep (sort of?) for maybe two hours and an hour of that had been the best not-sex of my life. What. the. actual. fuck. "Ok", I was talking to myself in a stage whisper, trying to reason what had just happened away. "Ok", I said again, somehow thinking that would make it true or go away or, hell, I don't know. 

I got back in bed trying hard not to think about the dream and, of course, thinking about nothing else. 

The upside being that it was all a vast improvement over having my intestines ripped out by hellhounds once again. 


	4. That's My Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is going to be mad.

[Jess]

      I put the gun back under the pillow and slid back under the covers, trying not to laugh and mostly succeeding. Jo was the only person I knew that could over think a wet dream. I did wonder what she meant by ' _very very realistic_ '. I sighed. Just as well I didn't know anyway; thinking about Sam's brother's bedroom activities was just..disturbing. I heard Jo get back in bed. I closed my eyes and took slow, even breaths; willing myself to fall asleep. 

      I opened my eyes and blinked up at..stars? Stars? ok. I didn't try to sit up yet. One of the 'skills' Jo had me develop was becoming aware of my situation before reacting to it. It seemed like the reflex to 'shoot first, ask questions later' (i.e. the Winchester method) wasn't always the best or even recommended course of action. Mostly it's beneficial to figure out what the hell is going on before doing anything. 

    So. Stars. Ok. Outside. Whatever I was laying on wasn't terribly comfortable but it was warm. I flexed my fingers. And metal. I put my feet (bare) down and found I could reach the ground. I stood up slowly and turned to face the..car. I'd been laying on the hood of a car. Oh. Dean's car. 

"Well shit", I said aloud thinking no one was there. 

"J-Jess?" I heard a hesitant voice from around the driver's side window. 

The headlights came on as the door creaked and popped its way open. I held up my hand to shield my eyes and took a careful step that direction. I knew that voice. "Sam?" It was barely a whisper. I was afraid to say it out loud, afraid to hope. 

"Oh so today she can talk. That's just fucking great. Haven't done that trick in a while", Sam slammed the Impala's door hard and I winced. It was unbelievably quiet except for his crunching feet.

"Wanna tell me how you wished you'd never met me? Is that how we're going to play today?" he continued. I felt myself starting to close up, arms folded, trying to make myself smaller, less of a target. I could never stand being yelled at, by anyone. 

He'd come close enough to touch me but hadn't yet. I could see his fists clenching at his sides. He was shaking, eyes starting to fill with tears. 

"Go ahead. I deserve it", the anger had burned up almost as quickly as it had come, all that was left was defeat. His voice broke and he gave a choked sob but he never stopped looking at me, right in my eyes. 

I took a step toward him and I could see his eyes widen. I put my hands on either side of his face, closed my eyes and kissed him very softly on the lips. I opened my eyes to see Sam looking like he'd been slapped. "T-t-touch.. you can touch me?" he whispered, stuttering through the simple phrase as he raised a hand to my face. I leaned into his touch, relishing the feel of his large, rough hands. I closed my eyes and just _felt_. I lay a hand over his and opened my eyes. He gave a shuddering breath and then it was like the damn broke. 

We kissed hard; all teeth and tongues and there was nothing graceful about it but we were pressed as close as we could get as if the very air between us was in the way. Sam picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him as he backed us up to the hood of the Impala. He set me down as gently as possible given the amount of distraction: we still hadn't stopped kissing except to breathe. 

I had chills running over me in waves. The sensory input was almost overwhelming _SamSamSamSamSam_ was all my poor brain could process along with _moremoremoremoremore._ Sam had moved on from my lips to my throat and I had my hands under his shirt. I kissed his ear, biting the lobe between my front teeth and I felt him start to shake. I kept working my way down from his ear to his throat, growling in frustration when I encountered his shirt collar blocking my access to more skin. He leaned back and peeled the shirt off and then gave mine the same treatment. 

I've never been more glad I don't sleep in a bra in my whole freaking life. Sam looked like he'd just seen a new wonder of the world. He kissed me, pushing me back to lay flat on the hood. He kissed down my neck and kept going down. I threaded my hands through his hair; it was unbelievably soft. The combination of Sam's kisses, the rough feel of his hands and day old beard scraping down my neck, chest and breasts was almost more than I could take. Finally he started moving a hand down my ribs and over my belly. He moved both hands down to my hips, pulling me toward him and grinding into me. I thrashed and ground down as hard as I could. I wrapped my legs around the small of his back and kept him pressed into me. 

"Pants off now" I said, sitting up and kissing Sam as I worked his belt open and flicked the button open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. First, sorry for the all-stop right there. A horrible thing happened...I finished (really finished) this chapter and hit some random keys and the last bits just vanished into aether. So. Here's as much of an update as my extremely pissed off brain can manage right now. I will make a valiant effort to add another chapter (which is really the end of this one) later tonight. Thanks for your patience (even if you're just faking it).  
> Also, this and the next bit will be the last of sexy times for a chapter or so...the girls have to go back to being badasses. (;


	5. Don't Tell Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: don't hit random keys when writing...bad shit happends. (Deep cleansing breaths, repeat) Ok.  
> The actual end of Chapter 4. Again, Sorry.

   Sam pulled his pants down and toed off his shoes as he went. I smiled and almost laughed, "Just socks, sexy", Sam smiled and removed the offending garments. 

He pushed me back so I was once again laying on the hood. He pushed one long finger inside and I arched into his touch, grinding into his hand. God he remembered every spot I needed to be touched to send me over the edge. It took almost no time before I came, clinging to Sam and moaning his name. 

When I recovered enough to move Sam picked me up again, this time reversing our positions so he was laying and I was straddling him. I had a very short lived second to worry if the hood of the Impala could handle what was about to happen to it then Sam was guiding himself into me and I couldn't have cared less. I slid down his length very slowly, relishing the feel of every inch as I took him in. Sam's face was a cross between immense pleasure and pain..I could tell he was struggling not to grab my hips and drive into me. Finally I had him fully sheathed and I wiggled my hips in a little circle, loving the feel of him. Sam's eyes rolled back and he bit his lip. He wasn't going to last long either. 

We started moving together like it hadn't been two deaths ago since we'd done this. It amazed me how quickly the rhythm came back. 

Sam had his feet on the bumper, filling me with every stroke. I was coming undone again. I could feel the light on the edge of my consciousness starting to creep in. When I came, my inner muscles clenching down on Sam, he followed me, pulling me up and coating his abs. We kissed slowly and gently, hands tangled in hair, sweat starting to cool. 

"How are you here?" Sam asked, face full of wonder as he looked at me. 

"How about where is _here_?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've been here before", Sam replied, "And you're always here but..it's not _you_...it's my nightmare of you".

He took a deep breath and I could see he was starting to fight tears again. I closed my eyes and just breathed for a minute, trying to will myself not to fall apart and sob. "None of that was your fault. None of it. You hear me? I never once blamed you", I pulled Sam to me, even closer and just held him and kissed his hair. His ragged sobs shook his body as he held me. 

It was true I'd never blamed Sam for how I died. I didn't really blame anyone. Shit just happens to people sometimes. I'd seen enough in nursing school clinicals to know. Sure, sometimes there was someone to blame but it never did anyone any good to dwell on that (again, not really the Winchester method). Sam had been beating himself up since my death, even in his dreams. 

"What do I usually do when you see me here?" I asked when Sam had pulled himself together somewhat. 

"I don't want to talk about it", he answered quickly. 

"Ok. But. This is me; the real me. I love you. I never blamed you for a second. Not when I was dead and not now" I held his face in my hands as I said it, punctuating each sentence with a kiss. 

"Not now? What do you mean not now? This is a dream" skepticism apparent in Sam's voice. 

"Yes it is. But it also isn't. Have you ever had a dream like this? This real? This much detail?" I wasn't just talking to Sam as I went through the evidence, "This is something else. Something more". 

"Also, Dean is gonna be pissed. We probably got ass prints all over his Baby. I bet he notices first thing too", I was laughing now, Sam laughing with me. 

We got up and scuffed around on the ground for our clothes. "I think I'll keep these", Sam had my panties hanging off a finger and held them up, out of my reach when I tried to grab them. 

"It's pretty juvenile to keep a souvenir, Sam", I tried to act mad but there was no hope. I finally found my tshirt and with it...Sam's boxers, "Hmmm...two can play that game", I slid them on and twirled in a little circle. 

"Well I'm not putting yours on but I am keeping them. Not a souvenir either. Proof. If you're right, if this is more than a dream, this is a pretty obvious way to test it, right?" Sam said, still trying to find his pants. He turned around and I noticed something...new. 

"Sam? Is that a tattoo?", I'd known about the anti-possession tat, it was a necessary precaution in his..our..work. But this on his back was different. I walked toward him, trying to decipher what I was seeing. The lines of script started at the top of Sam's right shoulder blade and ran in horizontal lines about halfway down his back. I got closer and I could see that it was Sam's handwriting. He'd handwritten names and had them tattooed on his skin. Mine was at the top of the list. 

"Uh yeah. Dean and I...we got them a few months ago", he looked almost shy about it. "Can I touch it?" Sam nodded and stood still as I traced each letter of my name on his skin. 

I pressed kisses to the lines I could reach-I'm not short but Sam, of course, is still considerably taller than me. I could see chill bumps race across his skin, "Why?" I asked quietly. 

"Why?..Why? What?" Sam stuttered. 

"Why did you tattoo names on yourself?" I clarified, still touching the ink. 

"I-we-I mean just-wanted to-needed to. To remember", he finished, choking a little on the words. 

I wrapped my arms around him and just stood there, pressed against his back. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent. 

When I opened them again I was in the shitty motel room. Wearing Sam Winchester's boxers. 

_Very Very Realistic_. Got it. 


End file.
